Will Write For Food 2014: The World Around Us

That’s according to some of the people in the Hollywood, Fla. community. Over Labor Day weekend, I attended a program called Will Write for Food in which 20 other journalists and I ran the homeless newspaper for 36 hours.

Getting pizza at midnight. Meeting deadlines at two-thirty in the morning. Drinking unprecedented amounts of water to keep hydrated, yet craving a coffee IV. That’s how my weekend was. Actually, that’s how those 36 hours were. Yet, they were influential hours that have left a lasting impact on me.

Simply sitting in a room with fellow college students that are able to articulate their futures in journalism is an overwhelming feeling. Then, walking next to those same journalists into a small makeshift cafeteria filled with homeless people is another feeling in itself.

As soon as we walked in, the stench of cigarette smoke hit us. Then, we made a sharp left and found ourselves in a little cafeteria, much smaller than many of us have known even in elementary school. Our advisers and program directors told us to mingle, to sit and eat dinner with a homeless person from the shelter.

So, I stood in line for a good fifteen minutes, patiently waiting my turn for food. When I got to the front of the line, I saw not only volunteers but also shelter residents willingly and happily serving me food. It brought a smile to my face, thinking I had already seen something new to me.

After I got my food, I looked around the room, but there were no seats available. I scanned the room, looking for a conversation to join or a person to talk to. Finally, I found a woman who was sitting by herself in a chair, a little bit removed from everyone. I walked up to her and kneeled next to her. She offered me her chair, but I politely declined.

She talked to me about her family-her daughter and her granddaughters. She talked to me about how she came to the shelter-she was waiting for her apartment to be ready. I’m still not sure whether I believe everything she told me. Nonetheless, she talked to me. She even talked to me about her childhood and going to church as a child. When I saw her, she didn’t look like the stereotypical homeless person, and yet there she was with her blue eyeglasses strap, sitting and smiling at everyone.

I realized that there can be a homeless person sitting about twenty feet away from me, and I still won’t know. It’s heart wrenching to think that a person’s life can change so dramatically within a matter of days and yet many members of the community blame the homeless people themselves.

This experience was an eye-opening one, at the very least. I endeavor to share this new knowledge with communities in hopes that people can develop their own informed opinions.